


I Need a Sign

by Avirra



Series: Man from U.N.C.L.E. - Song Fic [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Song : Calling All Angels (writers : Charlie Colin-Patrick Monahan-Jimmy Stafford-Scott Underwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avirra/pseuds/Avirra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of mishaps tumble like dominoes and Illya is in their path. Can Napoleon find a way to keep his partner going despite the odds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Sign

Everything had been one screw up after another - none of it in their control. First came the mix-up on their flight. Exactly what had caused the mistake was still unknown, but there was only one ticket at the airport to get the agents back to New York instead of two. Second came the fact that all others flights headed to New York were sold out for the next three days - some sort of business convention taking place. That left the only other way back by train.

Knowing that Napoleon had plans and he didn't, Illya insisted that Napoleon take the plane ticket.

"I do not mind traveling by train and I will make use of the extra travel time to work on some of our reports."

The third problem was one they had no way of knowing - the train had already been marked by THRUSH. A highly guarded research project was on its way to the East Coast and the scientists behind its development had decided that the best way to safeguard it would be to send it without any fuss whatsoever. And that plan might have worked if one of the assistants hadn't proven to be greedy. He sold out the travel plans to THRUSH for a tidy sum of money that was more than he would usually have made in a year.

It was night and Illya was sleeping when the train jolted hard enough to fling the blond agent to the floor. Blood started to trickle down the side of his face, but Illya didn't pay any attention to that as he got dressed and readied his weapon. Then came the fourth stroke of bad luck. One of the THRUSH agents on the train recognized Illya. The U.N.C.L.E. agent wasn't expected, but they weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Illya didn't go down easily, but he did eventually fall to the lopsided odds.

News of the fate of the train reached the New York offices shortly after Napoleon arrived to begin his day. As soon as it was confirmed that Illya was missing, Napoleon asked and was granted permission to head the search.

That had been nearly eight days ago.

* * *

Napoleon didn't count the number of machines hooked up to what THRUSH had left of his partner. After days of searching and following every lead, no matter how small, he had finally found Illya. But this time had he found him too late?

The amount of damage was devastating. Illya had sustained a concussion from the train wreck, taken a beating during his capture that had led to cracked ribs and been subjected to torture. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived - the list seemed to go on and on. At a time when Illya needed reserves the most, everything was depleted.

The only thing giving Napoleon hope was that Illya was still breathing under his own power, but that was scant hope to cling to. Sweat seemed to cover every inch of the blond's thin frame as moans made up most of the sounds coming from the Russian's mouth. It was nearly a full day before Napoleon saw Illya's lips begin to move. He leaned closer to see if he could make out what was being said.

Illya was far away from the U.N.C.L.E. Medical division in both place and time. It was another time his life hung by a thread with fever threatening to burn what life was left out of his young body. His grandmother was by his side, dabbing the fire-hot forehead with a rag. When she started to move to wring out the cloth and dip it back in cool water, a small and desperate hand reached out and grabbed her apron.

~Please, Babushka. Please do not leave me. Never leave me.~

The woman felt worn and far older than her years. The world had taken some of her children and some of her other grandchildren from her, so the boy already knew that she could not promise him forever. As she searched for a way to soothe the child without an outright lie to him, a rustling noise at the window drew her eye and gave her an idea.

~My darling boy - the day will someday come when this world will divide us. It is the way of the world. But open your eyes. Look to the window. Do you see that white bird?~

The weary boy's voice was barely over a whisper.

~I see the white bird.~

Moving his head, he looked back into the dearly loved eyes of that were nearly the shade of his own.

~As you know, birds fly freely between Heaven and Earth. When you see a white bird or when you find a white feather, you and I will know that is my sign to you that I am still watching over you wherever life takes you. The white bird will carry my love back to you, for that? That, my dearest grandson, is something that will never fade away.~

Illya gave a soft groan of pain and fell back into a silent, restless sleep. Napoleon sat silently for a few moments, replaying in his head the words he had been able to make out. Then. Napoleon looked up from his partner's side to the faces of the attending doctors.

"Well?"

It told him a great deal just from the fact that none of them would look him in the eyes. Finally, the senior doctor spoke.

"I won't lie to you, Mister Solo. I'm frankly surprised that Mister Kuryakin has continued to live for as long as he has. If he were a little stronger, perhaps there might still be some hope, but it's my opinion that he's used up all of that strength to get him this far. He hasn't shown any sign of knowing where he is and he's in considerable pain. It would probably be far kinder -"

The doctor was interrupted by a vehement Napoleon.

"No. You will not give up on him. Not yet. Twenty-four more hours. Give him that much more time."

Napoleon was so intent on watching Illya that he didn't notice that the doctor was looking past him and to a silent figure waiting in the hall. Mister Waverly gave a short nod and the doctor looked back to Napoleon.

"Twenty-four more hours then."

A look of determination formed on Napoleon's face as he reached over and took his partner's too chilled hand in his own.

"I won't be gone long, tovarich. Wait for me."

It was, in fact, just over an hour before Napoleon returned. The doctor took one look at what he was carrying and blocked him from the room.

"I'm sorry, Mister Solo - but I can't permit you to bring that in here."

Not in the least cowed by the doctor, Napoleon scowled.

"Just an hour ago, you were willing to leave him alone to die. What harm is this going to do him?"

Flustered, the doctor couldn't think of any reason that didn't sound like a feeble argument. It was true - the man was dying, so what harm could it really do? Sighing, he stepped out of Napoleon's way.

Moving back to the head of the bed, Napoleon laid his cargo on the ground by his feet before picking up a cloth and dabbing the sweat away from Illya's brow. Then the dove in the cage on the floor let out a coo.

Napoleon held his breath as he watched Illya's forehead wrinkle in that way he knew showed that the Russian was trying to concentrate on something. He spoke softly in Russian, continuing to use the cloth gently.

~Wake up for me, Illya. I have something for you to see.~

The dove gave another coo and the eyelids parted. Barely enough for a hint of the blue behind them to show through, but it was more that Napoleon had seen since Illya's rescue. Then a very hoarse word made it out.

~Bird?~

~Yes, tovarich. A white one.~

~See?~

Needing no further encouragement, Napoleon lifted the cage so that the bird was level with Illya's gaze. When the barest hint of a smile formed, Napoleon quickly commandeered a table and placed the cage on it. Then he grabbed up a cup of water and placed the straw in Illya's mouth. It took a great deal of patience and encouragement, but he succeeded in getting a sip into Illya.

Frankly flabbergasted, the senior doctor stared at the two until Mister Waverly motioned him out of the room before asking the same question that Napoleon had.

"Well?"

"I wouldn't have believed it, sir, but Mister Solo got him to respond. The odds are still against him making a full recovery, but his odds of living have just improved. I don't know Russian, but whatever he said to Mister Kuryakin has got him fighting again. Where he's getting that strength from though? Heaven only knows. And what a bird has to do with it? I'm at a loss."

"Let us not argue against success, Doctor Brannor. Make arrangements for a bed to be moved in there for Mister Solo's use. Oh - and do send one of the nurses for some bird seed."

A larger smile flickered into life on Napoleon's face as he heard Mister Waverly's words behind him, but his main attention was on the man before him.

~When you get well, we will take the bird to the park and release him.~

Illya's glassy eyes flickered from the bird to Napoleon before his own smile grew slightly. There were no more words, but a tiny nod of agreement showed his approval as he drifted back off to sleep. This time, with the warmth of his partner's hand resting on his arm and the soft noises of the dove, that sleep was both peaceful and healing.


End file.
